


Back in Black

by Fafsernir



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley sees his Bentley again, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands Week 2019, M/M, post naah-pocalypse, the bentley's a she apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 01:36:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fafsernir/pseuds/Fafsernir
Summary: The moment that everything was back in order, Crowley couldn't stop himself from checking up on an old friend.





	Back in Black

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Ineffable Husbands Week's](https://ineffablehusbandsweek.tumblr.com/post/187228656901/ineffable-husbands-week-and-nsfw-ineffable) Day 6: Trip / Drive / Destination

The day after Aziraphale and Crowley switched back to their own bodies, Crowley walked to his flat. He had all the time in the world now, and walking was a good way to let some steam off. Dining with Aziraphale had helped. Drinking at the bookshop, falling back into their most recent habit – they had started to regularly drink together when they had been supervising Warlock’s upbringing – had helped too. Talking for hours, or staying silent, enjoying Aziraphale’s presence had calmed most of his thoughts. His mind was still thinking about Heaven, still thinking about Gabriel’s haughty smile and harsh words, still thinking about how they had wanted to _ burn _ Aziraphale. It was hard to swallow.

He had been so tired and resting in the comfort of Aziraphale’s couch and lap had helped. It had fallen on them naturally, to sit in such a position as Crowley mentioned his exhaustion. Aziraphale had sat there for hours, letting him sleep while he read and smoothed his hair.

Crowley was the one to pretend he had stuff to do. Aziraphale had followed the lead. Both knew exactly what the other would do, but they didn’t talk about it. It felt so very human, to care about something material. But Aziraphale wanted to examine his bookshop, and Crowley needed to see the Bentley again.

When he finally spotted her in the street, he took a deep breath, a small smile instantly tugging his lips.

She was standing in the street, looking as good as new. She had never looked anything else than as good as new, as Crowley always took great care of her.

He opened the door without needing keys, and without even thinking about it much. Whether it was his imagination letting him in without keys because he thought he didn’t need any, or the Bentley allowing him inside without a key was a mystery.

He slipped into the driver’s seat with a sigh, relaxing instantly against the leather. He had missed her. He had thought he had lost her, such a good and docile companion throughout all these years. His mind was numb and compartmentalised when the Bentley had exploded. It could have been the last straw, if he hadn’t just found Aziraphale again. He had focused for such a long time to keep it together – keep himself, keep the Bentley working – that the shock had been lessened. The situation hadn’t allowed him to mourn about his car properly.

She was still standing, in the end. Adam had restored it, and Crowley was grateful. He was relieved to see the bookshop standing again, too.

The Bentley was a bit different from what she had been. Crowley couldn’t really see it, but he could feel it. He wasn’t sure what was different about her, though.

He opened the glove compartment, smiling when he saw CDs inside. He couldn’t find his Velvet Underground anymore, or his Mozart. Instead, he found AC/DC’s _ Back in Black _ and some compilations.

He put a CD in the player, and the speakers – Adam had put actual speakers on the car – crackled then _ Hells Bells _ filled the silence. Crowley smiled, patting the dashboard fondly. He wondered if in a fortnight, Queen’s tunes would replace the current song or if Adam had somehow stopped that. But he trusted the Bentley to be as good as before the fire, and that included her great taste in music.

He didn’t know what it was about this car, but he was particularly fond of her. He had loved her the moment he had seen her, right out of the factory. He had bought her immediately. She was so much better and more comfortable than a horse, or any of those weird human inventions that had followed. Crowley liked to be in control of his vehicle.

He sighed contently when he started the Bentley and her motor roared to life, the tires screeching on the road as it took off suddenly.

He could hear Aziraphale’s voice telling him to drive slower, especially in central London, but he grinned and drove faster.

The Bentley sped through the streets as she had always: perfectly well, fast enough to be satisfying. Crowley clenched his fist on the wheel, taking in the feeling of being able to drive without trying so hard to survive. Without having to go to a certain destination – say, a cemetery in the middle of the night – to accomplish a job he didn’t want to do.

He braked in the middle of a street, patting the seat next to him absently as he looked up. Through the Bentley’s clean window, he saw the less clean window of Aziraphale’s bookshop. And through that less clean window, he could see a shadow moving. He imagined Aziraphale, standing tall and trying to see everything his shelves contained.

Crowley had only left a couple of hours earlier, but he longed to be back by Aziraphale’s side. They had spent enough time apart.

“What do you think, should I go there?” he asked himself.

The Bentley’s music stopped and the radio crackled, without playing any music.

“Hey, I’m trying, okay? Don’t pressure me,” Crowley pouted, looking at his nervous hands. The radio fell silent after a few more seconds. “I know, I know.”

Crowley sighed, resting his forehead against the back of his hands on the steering wheel.

He startled, uttering a surely very demonic scream when someone knocked on the Bentley’s window. 

Aziraphale was waving at him, bent a bit to be able to see him, with a genuine smile. Crowley slowly lowered the window.

“...in, I have wine. Unless you’re still busy…”

Crowley pursed his lips, hiding a smile. “Coming,” he answered in a breath.

Aziraphale smiled and straightened up. Crowley rolled the window back up, looking at the inside of his Bentley.

“Don’t say it,” he muttered before opening the door. He glared at the car when it didn’t open at first, then got out with a very humble huff.

“Everything okay, my dear?”

Crowley relaxed instantly at the words, his face naturally splitting into a smile – it happened a lot when Aziraphale was around. He nodded in silence to answer him.

Crowley looked back at the Bentley when they walked to Aziraphale’s shop, and he swore her headlights blinked in an appropriate manner.


End file.
